Chapter 463: Road To S3. 2
Luca understood that this child wasn't his, but rather, the offspring of Ansel and Laura's union. He had no rights or power over what the child should be named because he wasn't even related to them in any way, not even close enough to offer a naming suggestion.
But even so, the fact that Laura had turned around to name the child something completely different than what Ansel had planned hurt him like hell. He was sure Laura knew Lukas was the planned name, since Ansel had already drafted Luzia, the female variant, in case the child had been revealed as a girl.
Luca left the hospital that day with much lower spirits compared to the anticipation he came with, looking forward to seeing the child.
As he revised his feelings on the issue, he realized it wasn't even the deliberate change of the name that truly upset him. With a clearer mind, Luca understood that Laura might've felt Ansel's reasons for naming the child Lukas were no longer relevant—since he was dead now. If the child had been named Lukas, it would've constantly reminded everyone in her family of Luca Rennick.
Luca wasn't part of the family in any way, not with the only link—Ansel—gone. So, the name change was necessary. And along with that, the godfather.
The child's name was now Martin. The child now had a different godfather. There was zero bond Luca could claim, no valid connection to take the child out on summer vacations, to visit, or to play with him. Every tie had been severed. Logically, it just felt like trying to mingle with a random single mother's child and her family.
And in a world quick to make certain speculations between him and Laura, Luca knew he ought to stay away.
Still, stubborn not to let Ansel down, Luca resolved to keep tabs on the boy through the two relations he had quietly positioned as his ghost. He would also instruct them to begin nudging the boy gently toward the essence of Formula 1 as early as the age of five.
Legacy was sovereign here. After all, Luca could already see some future in Martin; especially with the emotional weight of having a father who died on track too. Imagine if Laura eventually took another husband and gave Martin step-siblings, thereby neglecting him. In that kind of scenario, Luca was 100% sure the boy would want to drive a single-seater and on the grandest sport stage in the world.
And right at that juncture, Luca would be waiting for him. He would probably be nearing retirement then, though—but who knows the future?
******
Luca's welcoming was nationally endowed. As part of the ceremony to honor the driver who had won them the F2 Championship, and indirectly taken them into Formula 1, Luca personally met with the Federal President of Germany, along with many other key government figures: the Federal Chancellor, the Head of the German General Sports Confederation, and representatives from the German Motorsport Federation.
The meeting was held at the Chancellery Building in Berlin, a structure that defined the core of Germany's governance. The agenda of the meeting revolved around national pride, sports diplomacy, and the future of German motorsport, all being built on the back of Luca Rennick.
Several achievements were mentioned, including the F1 Championship, for which Luca would be honored with material praise if he won it. Regardless of whether he won the championship for the team or not by year's end, he would be offered German nationality. Alongside that, he would be officially declared a national sporting ambassador.
More promises were discussed, and as Luca sat on that royal-like red sofa, a smile stretched across his face because he had just realized exactly why he was now being called a traitor by the Italians.
*****
The Italians were waiting for him and Trampos in Italy on the day of the Livery Unveil Event for the fast-approaching season. Just like the Gala had been held in Italy, so would the Unveil per tradition.
And after the pact Germany had made with Luca, there was a sizzling tension in the atmosphere of a country that, though geographically close, was miles apart. Who was Luca, really, to prompt such a rippling reaction? No one could exactly say why or how he managed to crawl under their skin—he just did.
Around Teatro alla Scala, Milan, Italy, a massive crowd had gathered, surrounding the venue, waiting for team trucks and subordinate vehicles to arrive while officials busied themselves arranging everything inside.
As expected, teams received their fair share of cheers, but the cheers for the current champions—and Kings of Italy—Squadra Corse, were by a thousandfold the loudest. And then came Trampos' convoy, and the hooligans, who had objects gripped tightly in their palms, began acting wildly, hurling them at the convoy.
Bottles rained down on Trampos, along with metal objects like engine parts and even bricks. One brick crashed against one of the support vans, cracking the left passenger window, while a flare struck the rear of the very bus Luca was in. He and everyone inside staggered from the sudden impact. The team crew was rattled with fear, but Luca, instead, was silently wishing a protester would dare come onboard just so he could land a deadly punch straight to the nose.
The atmosphere outside was volatile and thick with resentment. The organizers knew something had to be done the moment a man hopped onto the lead bus—the very one carrying Mr. Grant and Ms. Valloton—gripped the side mirror with one hand, and swung a rigid mallet at it, shattering the glass on impact.
Piu! Piu! Sssssss!
To impose discipline and restore order, tear gas soon saturated the air outside, and the crowd scattered in a chaotic haze. Trampos, on the other hand, continued their way into the venue, battered with considerable damage, but still rolling.
"So you're saying this isn't the first time you guys have been harassed by an Italian mob?" Luca asked Victor with a serious expression, reacting to something Victor had just grumbled, clearly recalling a past incident.
Victor nodded in reply and went on to narrate how some Squadra fans—or maybe Velocita fans, he wasn't entirely sure—had once infiltrated their team buses and spray-painted everything with mocking colors that mimicked the Italian flag.
Luca vividly imagined the scene as Victor spoke, his mind replaying it alongside the other tales Victor had told him while they got dressed into the new racing suits for the season. The thought made him angry, Italy's pride becoming something to scorn, but this wasn't the time to entertain even a spike of emotion.
The new design for Trampos Racing had been created in memory of Ansel and the fire that had consumed him. Flames were etched across the racing suits, angling toward the left side, embedded using reflective threading so that, under sunlight or flash photography, they would shimmer vividly.
For the car design, the dominant color remained red, but multiple shades were blended together to convey the theme of fire. Molten red represented the body of the flames, while ember orange detailed the edges. The final touch was scorched gold, Trampos' new signature color, running along the nose and around the sidepods like sparks dancing from a flame.
The design was truly magnificent, but even at that, Jackson Racing would always beat every team hands down when it came to aesthetics. Theirs were simply stunning.
"Presenting first, the reigning champions– Squadra Corse!
"WOOOOOHHHHH!'
Black, gold, silver and white.
"Jackson Racing!"
"WOOOOOHHHHH!"
Silver, white, blue, black
"Bueseno Velocita!"
"WOOOOOHHHHH!"
Blue, black, red and white
Others:
—Alpine Swiss F1: Yellow, white and red
—Haddock Racing: Brown, orange, black and white
—Iberia Grand Prix: Violet, black, grey and white
—Nordvind Racing: Blue, gold and black
—Outback Performance: Green, gold and black
—Velox Hispania: Beige, brown and grey
"And now, it's time to meet your stars behind the wheels! Please welcome the drivers!"
The lighting in the arena fell dim. The spotlights faded, then slowly realigned to locate all twenty booths. Silhouettes of the drivers were revealed one by one, and the crowd erupted in cheers.
Luca's and Luigi's eyes met instantly through their visors.